The Fifth Cookie
by QueenStrata
Summary: He had started off with nothing but a plan to steal a rare book and make himself a little money. Then he found the fortune cookie, and his life was changed forever. Sequel to Fortune Cookies.


A/N: It was asked for. I wrote it. Yay.

Warnings: Teehee.

Disclaimer: I own David!

Summary: He had started off with nothing but a plan to steal a rare book and make himself a little money. Then he found the fortune cookie, and his life was changed forever. Sequel to Fortune Cookies.

The Fifth Cookie 

The man crept silently into the bookshop, appearing to be little more than a shadow amongst the darkened shelves. He had never seen the owner leave this shop before—not unlocked, at least. The blond man was very meticulous about such things, obviously afraid of having something stolen. But tonight, after the owner had screeched off in an old-fashioned Bentley with a younger dark-haired gentleman, this shadowy man had tried the handle and found it turning under his hand.

The shadow man was named David—an ordinary name for an extraordinary man. David grinned as he made his way to the back room, which he knew form experience would hold plenty of absolutely priceless books. Shops like this one always did. And they would naturally be in an area separate from the rest of the books, lest the owner accidentally sell one out of desperation.

But he was distracted from his search by a sudden flash of light. His eyes shot to the side, full of fear—was this owner smart enough to have some sort of security system that would have noticed him? He slinked over to the check out counter where the flash had come from and found—

A fortune cookie?

David snickered to himself and made to turn away, deciding that it had just been a trick of the light. But then the cookie flashed again and he turned back, overcome with curiosity. He tentatively reached out and prodded the cookie; when nothing happened, he opened it up. He tired to force his hands to stop shaking, but it didn't work. Consequently, the cookie broke into crumbs and fell to the floor. David swore to himself and crunched them under his foot, hoping the owner would manage to keep from noticing the new mess amidst the dust. Then he shoved what remained of the cookie into his mouth and peered at the fortune.

_Hello, David,_ was written on the tiny slip of paper. David blinked. What the— _This is God. I do hope you change your mind about going into that back room. Aziraphale, the owner of the shop, is one of my angels. If you were to steal from him, I wouldn't be particularly happy, as you might imagine. Neither would Aziraphale for that matter. And we mustn't forget Crowley. He's the owner of that Bentley. And a demon. And if Aziraphale gets mad, _he_ gets mad. Don't think he won't hunt you down for revenge, either. He's good at that revenge thing. So all in all, I think it's in your best interest to leave this shop alone. However, if you still need some excitement for the night, I suggest you go find Crowley's flat. I'm sure what you find there will really interest you._

And once David had finished the note, it crumpled to dust. The man gaped at it. His mind was working furiously. Part of him refused to believe the message in the note and ached to get his fingers on some (almost) instant money. But another part of him—the bigger, more curious part—decided to find out exactly what was going on.

Decision made, he ran out to his car and drove away. For some reason, he knew exactly where to go.

Only a few minutes later, David screeched to a halt next to the Bentley and tore up the stairs as fast as his feet would carry him. He skidded to a halt in front of the flat, barely missing a collision with the door. He paused, there, bent over with hands on his knees, and fought to catch his breath.

Once he had himself under control, he slowly pushed the door open and peered inside. Seeing no one, he sidled in through the slit in the doorway, and shut the door soundlessly behind him. He made his way slowly through the room, carefully checking every floorboard before he crossed it. Then at the door he was sure was the bedroom, he stopped and paused to listen. All he could hear was some muffled rustling and moans.

Cautiously, he opened the door and poked his head inside. He didn't know what he was going to see, but he knew what he _expected_ to see from the sounds that were coming out of the room. But surely an angel and a demon wouldn't—

Or maybe they would.

David stared, wide-eyed, at the two very naked men entangled on the bed. His stunned eyes watched as the mild-mannered shop owner, the _angel_ his mind corrected him, arched into the dark-haired man's touch; his eyes followed the trail that the demon kissed down a long, pale neck. His mind could barely handle the view of an angel forcing a demon's head up, of an angel hungrily devouring the taste of a demon's mouth.

But somehow, his mind made it through intact.

He wasn't exactly sure what kind of state his pants would be in, though.

David carefully closed the door, the image seared into his eyes. He thought as well as he could.

And then he grinned.

David had always been fond of writing—and, in fact, was very good at it. But by the time he'd gotten out of high school, he had appeared to run out of ideas. It was that tragedy which had led him to his life of crime—stealing and selling rare books so he could have the illusion of living a normal life.

Now, for the first time in ten years, he had an idea: a thief finding a message from God that introduces him to an angel and a demon who are desperately trying to hide their relationships from their superiors, unaware that said superiors already knew. And, confusingly for them, they are all after the same object—the Holy Grail.

David's grin widened. It was perfect.

A/N: You know…every time I look at this, I want to write David's story. Ish annoying.


End file.
